


the serendipity of misspeaking

by ghosttotheparty



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Boys In Love, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, Lots of kissing, M/M, Muslim Character, Sensory Overload, just a little, theyre in love your honor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 19:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30127722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosttotheparty/pseuds/ghosttotheparty
Summary: It’s not until he’s already out of the apartment building, halfway down the block and halfway through with the first granola bar, that he realises what thefuckhe just said.Troy says something by accident.Abed doesn't mind.
Relationships: Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	the serendipity of misspeaking

Abed isn’t in the kitchen when Troy comes out of the bathroom.

On any other day, he’d be sitting on the counter, his legs swinging, a glass of special drink or coffee in his hand, smiling as Troy enters, and Troy would say “Morning, Inspector,” in a bad English accent (that usually comes out more Australian than English) (Abed is better at accents than Troy is), and he’d grab a bowl of whatever Annie had concocted for breakfast, oatmeal or eggs or leftovers from dinner.

But Annie left early this morning (she popped into Troy’s room before leaving to meet Britta and Shirley for coffee before school). 

And Abed isn’t on the counter like usual. Troy stops in his tracks upon entering the kitchen, startled by his absence, staring at the space where Abed is supposed to be sitting, his hand pausing as it hikes his backpack over his shoulder. 

He glances around the kitchen, seeing if he missed Abed standing by the fridge, and steps out of the room when he doesn’t see him. 

“Abed?” he calls out lightly, getting no response, and he sees Abed’s satchel on the floor outside the blanket fort, zipped up and seemingly ready to go. 

It’s dark in the fort as Troy pulls the front blanket aside, catching sight of Abed in his bunk, completely covered by his blankets. He shifts slightly as Troy lets the blanket fall behind him, and Troy is careful as he steps forward, brushing his feet along the carpet in front of him to avoid stepping on anything. 

“Abed?” 

Abed lets out a quiet hum, a gentle groan, and Troy’s heart lurches. He moves close enough to look over him, Abed’s face just peeking out from under the blankets. His eyes are squeezed shut. 

“Are you okay?” Troy whispers. 

Abed groans again and turns his face into his pillow 

“What’s wrong?” Troy asks, worried, wanting to sit on the bed and brush Abed’s hair out of his face. 

“I don’t feel well,” Abed mumbles after a few quiet seconds, and it takes another second for Troy to understand him, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“Do you really not feel well or is it just your brain telling you that you don’t?” he asks quietly, shifting on his feet, his brows turned up in concern, and Abed’s eyes open for a split second, shutting as his brow furrows and his lips pout as he thinks. 

“I don’t know,” he says finally, his voice nearly just a breath.

“What are you feeling?” Troy has a thought to pull his phone out and check the time, but he doesn’t. 

“Everything is too much,” Abed whispers, his eyes squeezed shut again. “Just… overwhelming.”

“Okay,” Troy says, as quietly as he can. “You can stay home, it’s okay.” 

“Okay,” Abed breaths, shifting in his bed, his hands coming up to under his chin with the end of the blanket clutched in them. 

“Do you want me to bring you anything? From the cafeteria, or…” Troy asks before stepping toward the entrance, stalling. Abed shakes his head. “Okay. I’ll bring you notes from class. I’ll see you later.”

“Troy?” Abed calls out weakly as Troy opens the blankets and steps out. 

“Yeah?”

“Have fun.”

“Won’t be half as fun without you, baby.” 

Troy carefully pulls the blankets closed behind himself and, after grabbing two granola bars from the kitchen (Annie’s addition to the stock of fruit roll-ups and Lucky Charms), shuts the front door as quietly as he can.

It’s not until he’s already out of the apartment building, halfway down the block and halfway through with the first granola bar, that he realises what the _fuck_ he just said. 

He freezes, mid-chew, his eyes widening, and he turns around, facing the apartment building like he’s expecting Abed to be walking behind him. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, swallowing before taking a deep breath. And then another. And another, as he realises how fast his heart is pounding, how his breaths don’t seem to fill up his lungs. He closes his eyes, covering his face with his hands for a second, inhaling again and holding it for a few seconds before exhaling slowly. 

He starts to walk again when he feels steady, when his head is back on his neck instead of floating above his body. He finishes the granola bar too, even though he feels a little sick. 

He doesn’t even bother trying to think about something else, doesn’t bother trying to distract himself, because all that’s going through his mind as he walks down the endless sidewalk, listening as cars and bikes and people pass him, as he stops instinctively at crosswalks and waits for the lights to turn green, is _baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby._

It’s still there when he gets to the study room, grinning and greeting the others, telling them Abed doesn’t feel well, pretending there isn’t complete rampage, chaos, pandemonium going on in his head, pretending just saying Abed’s name doesn’t make his heart twist. 

It’s still there as he goes to his first class, as he pulls out his notebooks and pencils (which aren’t in a pencil case, and are instead tossed to the bottom of his bag, much to Annie’s annoyance.). He glances at the clock often, his knee bouncing up and down, his pencil tapping his desk until Annie reaches over and snatches it from him and sets it down, his bottom lip between his teeth. Every second that passes is a second closer to going home to Abed, which normally he’d be excited about. On any other Friday, he’d be counting down the seconds happily, ready to go home and watch The Dark Night or something with Abed, with popcorn and chocolate.

When he thinks about going home to Abed, all that flows through his brain like waves on a coast, or rather like thunder clouds rolling over a sky, is _baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby._

But every second that passes is another second closer to finding out if Abed heard him this morning. Troy tries to reassure himself, tries to tell himself that maybe Abed stopped listening, or maybe Troy was too far away, speaking too softly for him to hear, that maybe Abed misheard it for “buddy,” which Troy _meant_ to say. 

If it weren’t today, and if he hadn’t said what he’d said, Troy would go home for lunch. He’d go and check on Abed, make him buttered noodles, make sure he’s okay. But today he stays in the cafeteria, staring at his phone on the table in front of him, only half-listening as Shirley and Jeff talk and laugh. Shirley asks if he’s okay when she sees him, and he assumes he looks sad. Or mad. Maybe both. He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. 

“I’m fine,” he says, forcing a smile onto his face. “Just stayed up too late last night.” 

The only thing that manages to take his mind off _it_ is his dance class, in the afternoon. It’s his last period and he worries that he may not be able to get into it today, that he may not be able to dance like he usually does (disappointing Madame LeClair crosses his mind), and he sullenly takes his jeans off in the corner, avoiding his classmates’ eyes as they look at him in wonder as to why he didn’t come in as enthusiastically as he usually does. 

But after just a few seconds of moving half-heartedly, his mind blanks, and if he knew how to read sheet music, he’s sure that’s what his head would be filled with. Treble clefs and whatnot, spinning and twirling and gliding and floating around, bouncing off his skull like a DVD screensaver as he spins and twirls and glides and floats. It’s almost effortless. He almost forgets where he is. He can’t even hear Madame LeClair’s loud, echoing voice saying “One, and two, and three, and four, and five, and six, and sev-en, eight! And one, and two, and three, and four, and five, and six, and sev-en, eight! And one, and two, and three, and four, and five, and six, and sev-en, eight!” as she claps in time with the music.

Sometimes he wonders which he likes more: dancing or football. If anyone asked, he’d say football, but part of him wonders if that’s because he’s supposed to like football more. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it, but football doesn’t make him feel the same way dancing does. Football puts him on edge, ready to be tackled at any given second, given a responsibility, a task to complete. It makes his heart beat fast, makes adrenaline rush through his veins. It gives him a _rush_ and he ends up jumping whenever someone touches him after a game, laughing and messing around with his friends like he did in high school. (It’s different now, though. Here, he’s friends with them because he wants to be, not because he feels like he has to be.) 

Dance is similar, with the rush and adrenaline (especially after recitals). But it’s different too. Dancing makes him feel unstoppable, but not in the physical, aggressive way football does. When he finishes a dance, when he stops moving and relaxes his limbs and takes a deep breath, he feels _real_. Like he really really exists, by himself and for himself. 

It always takes him a second to ground himself before he starts moving normally after dancing.

“Nice work today, everyone,” Madame LeClair says when the music shuts off. “Good job Troy. So much emotion today!” she adds in that theatrical voice of hers.

“Thank you,” he says, looking down bashfully. 

He puts on his pants and jacket slowly, waiting for Britta like usual, and when he sees her, he throws his bag over his shoulder and steps forward. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hi!” She looks up from her phone. “You headed home?” He nods. “Text me how Abed is, will you? I’ve been worried about him today.” She twists her mouth. 

“Yeah, of course,” he says, ignoring the swoop of his stomach. “I’ll see you later.” 

She gives him a swift peck on his cheek and he leaves, his smile fading quickly. He feels sick again.

He counts every step on the way home, counts every time he can hear the sound of the rubber soles of his shoes crunching loose pebbles of gravel on the sidewalk. Every step, every crunch, every breath,   
_baby_  
 _baby_  
 _baby_  
 _baby_  
 _baby_.  
\---

When he gets home, Annie is in the kitchen, making a bowl of cereal. 

“Hey!” she calls, and he kicks off his shoes, not bothering to look where they land as he shuts the door behind him. 

“Hey.” He pauses at the counter, looking over as she gingerly pours milk in her bowl. “Have you talked to Abed?” He’s careful not to let his voice shake. 

“I stopped in the fort earlier, but he had his headphones on and I didn’t want to bother him.” She looks over her shoulder as she puts the carton back in the fridge. (She’s the only one that does.) “I think it’d be best if you checked on him.”

“Okay, yeah,” he says after a brief pause. “Yeah, I-- I’ll do that.” He shoots her a quick smile as she lifts her spoon to her mouth and she smiles back, catching a dribble of milk on her chin. His stomach flips again as he turns away, to the blanket fort.

The fort is still a little dim inside, but bright enough from the light streaming through the sheets for Troy to see Abed clearly, sitting on the floor with his back against the bunk bed. His headphones are on (Noise-cancelling, a Christmas gift from Jeff), but he lifts his head when Troy steps in, and lifts his hand, pulling them off so they hang around his neck.

“Hey, buddy,” Troy says softly, smiling to the best of his ability. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Abed replies, his voice low and gravelly from disuse. “Still kind of… Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Troy shuffles his feet on the ground, unsure of what to do or say. Abed’s eyes are still on him, but it’s just like normal. His eyes always look so soft.

Troy’s heart rate slows down as Abed gazes at him. Maybe he forgot. Or didn’t hear it. 

“What can I do?” Troy asks abruptly, after looking back into his eyes. Abed blinks, his face blank, and his head tilts, like it does when he gets lost in his mind and Troy brings him back to the ground. 

“What?”

“How can I help you? What can I do?” Troy repeats, and Abed blinks again. It takes a second for him to answer, and Troy waits. 

“Can you sit with me?”

“I-- Yeah, I can do that.” He shifts on his feet, taking a breath. “Let me put my bag down in my room. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

Abed nods. 

Troy pulls his phone out of his pocket as he leaves the blanket fort, feeling Abed’s eyes still on him. He sends a quick text to Britta ( _Abed’s good. He’s having a rough day but he’s better than this morning._ ) and then tosses it onto his bed before dropping his backpack to the floor. He leaves before it buzzes with Britta’s reply. 

He stops by Annie’s room, knocking gently on her open door.

“Hey!” she says, turning and dropping her spoon in her bowl as she chews. “How’s Abed?”

“Better than this morning, but…” 

She nods, twisting her mouth into a sympathetic frown. 

“Uh…” He leans his chest against the doorframe, holding it with his hands. “Do you think you can make buttered noodles for dinner? That might make him happy.” 

She beams, straightening her back and brightening. 

“Yeah! It’s still pretty early, but I can make it when I’m done with my homework.” 

“Awesome.” He smiles back. “Thanks, Annie.” He taps the doorframe gently before leaving. 

He opens the blanket fort slowly and peeks in before entering. Abed is still on the floor, his back to the bunk bed, but his headphones are on the floor next to him instead of around his neck. Now, he has a blanket draped over his shoulders, a dark blue one with the Inspector Spacetime logo printed across it. Abed doesn’t look up when he comes in, so Troy lets a small smile spread across his face as he sits cross-legged in front of him. 

“Okay?” he whispers, and Abed glances up, smiling back and nodding before dropping his head back to his knees. 

Troy sighs, looking at him fondly. _Baby baby baby baby baby baby_ is still somewhere in the back of his head, but it’s a little quieter now. In the dim light, he can see Abed’s shoulders rise and fall as he breaths, and when he closes his eyes, he can hear it too, can sync his own breaths with Abed’s. 

“Can I touch you?” he whispers almost inaudibly after a few minutes, opening his eyes to see Abed nodding against his legs. So he does, _finally_. He’s missed touching him all day, though he did his best not to think about it. He’s missed grabbing his hand as they navigate through the crowded hallway of the second floor between class, Troy leading him as Abed’s eyes remain trained on the ground, and slapping their hands together after something awesome. 

Troy scoots forward a little bit, keeping his legs crossed in front of him, and reaches out, gently brushing his fingers over the top of Abed’s head. Abed sighs.

“Okay?” Troy asks again. 

“Mm-hmm.” 

Troy smiles, threading his fingers in Abed’s hair and combing through to the back of his head. 

“Do you wanna talk?” Troy whispers as he does it again. 

“Sure.”

“What did you do today?” he asks, carefully, pushing Abed’s hair back. It’s so soft. Smooth. 

“I started getting ready this morning but it was too…” He takes a short breath. “Bright. And loud.” 

Troy hums, glancing down and noting that under the blanket, he can spot a graphic t-shirt, and further down, a pair of dark sweatpants. 

“Have you eaten at all?” he asks, and there’s a pause before Abed shakes his head. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Troy reprimands gently, pausing before brushing through his hair again. “That’s okay. Do you think you can eat dinner later?”

“Mm… maybe.”

“That’s good enough right now.” 

Abed lifts his head, his brow furrowed, focused, and Troy lifts his hand, watching as Abed’s hand lands on Troy’s shin, pulling until Troy gets the message, uncrossing his legs and letting Abed move himself forward, away from the bed, until he’s sitting between Troy’s legs, his own wrapped around Troy’s waist. Troy waits as Abed gets situated in his arms, placing his own between them, his hands curled. 

Abed leans forward, pressing his forehead to Troy’s chest, breathing in deeply, and Troy wraps his arms around him tightly, revelling in the way Abed’s head turns, nuzzling his face in Troy’s hoodie.

“You smell nice,” Abed whispers, and Troy giggles lightly, adjusting his arms around Abed until he tangles his fingers in Abed’s hair, combing through it again. 

“Not too strong?’’ 

Abed shakes his head slightly. 

“No. You smell like you.” 

Troy hums again, smiling softly. He rests his elbows on Abed’s shoulders, sighing. He thinks he could fall asleep right here. He closes his eyes. 

He can feel Abed’s breath against the skin of his neck, and a chill goes up his spine. He shifts, opening his eyes for a second. He probably shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he is, enjoying the feeling of Abed’s legs around him, of his fingers against his chest, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. The slight, subtle brush of Abed’s hair touching his neck when Abed moves. 

But this is just them. This is how they are. So Troy closes his eyes again, pushing his fingers through Abed’s hair and running his hand down Abed’s back, his heart thumping happily at the quiet, almost inaudible hum that comes from Abed. After a few minutes Abed pulls his head away and leans back down, turning so his other cheek is pressed to Troy’s shoulder, and Troy pauses before coming through his hair again.

“I heard what you said this morning,” Abed says softly, and Troy is pretty sure his heart stops beating. His eyes fly open and his fingers freeze, pausing in his hair before Troy swallows (hoping Abed can’t hear his gulp) and pushing through again, though his hands might just be shaking now. 

“That I’d… bring you notes today?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Abed says evenly, and Troy’s hand stops again, dropping to Abed’s shoulder gently as he looks down, at the ground, at the small crack in the sheets that a slim beam of light shines through. He takes a deep breath, resigning, and he knows Abed can hear his heart because it’s fucking _pounding_. The queen of England could probably hear it at this point.

“I know,” he chokes out, and the words break on their way out, filling his mouth like sand. “I’m sorry.” 

He half expects Abed to pull away and look at him with his deep, serious eyes, and to tell him it’s fine, just that Abed doesn’t feel the same way. That’s how it always plays out in Troy’s mind. But Abed is quiet, his fingers still fidgeting with the strings of Troy’s hoodie, flipping them and curling them and unintentionally pressing to Troy’s chest for just a second. 

“I liked it,” Abed says finally, after a silent, strained, desperate minute, and Troy blinks.

“...What?”

Troy’s brows furrow and he pulls his head back, looking down at Abed even though all he sees is the top of his head. 

“I liked it,” Abed repeats, lifting his head and looking at Troy. His eyes flicker back and forth between Troy’s, and before Troy can let out a confused “Huh?” Abed leans forward and presses his mouth to Troy’s.

Troy’s eyes widen, and he gasps, his mouth dropping open under the pressure of Abed’s soft lips.

Abed pulls away before Troy can really react, just as his hand is lifting to touch the side of his face, to press against his skin and pull him closer, like he’s wanted to for years, because _holy fucking shit_ Abed Nadir just _kissed_ him, and they aren’t in character, or in the Dreamatorium, or role-playing. And it feels so unreal, and so perfect, and so amazingly fantastic that Troy almost wants to hit himself to see if he’s dreaming. He has no idea how long he’s wanted this. He supposes maybe he always has, but just didn’t realise it for a long while. Not until Britta told Troy that Toby was stealing Abed from him. “That dude is stealing your boyfriend,” she’d said, and Troy was struck with a lightning bolt of _oh_. But he pushed it away. Ignored it. Didn’t allow himself to think about it. 

Of course, the thought still crept back in whenever his mind wasn’t occupied. Late at night, when he was lying alone with a pillow clutched to his chest, listening to Abed’s slow, steady breath below him, and then late at night with a pillow clutched to his chest, missing the sound of Abed’s breathing below him when he moved into what was the Dreamatorium. In class, as a teacher droned on about equations, or some old white guy’s book. Waking up in the morning to Abed’s light footsteps passing Troy’s door. In the shower. 

It was so good. Even though it lasted just a few seconds, and it ended before Troy could kiss him back, before he could pull him as close as possible and run his hands through his hair, and press a hand against the small of his back, and run a hand over his chest and shoulders and neck, and tug at his shirt and hair, and listen to his breath catch in his throat, and maybe hear him hum into Troy’s mouth, or feel his throat vibrate under Troy’s lips. Troy realises he’s thought about this a lot more than he thought.

“Troy?”

Troy startles, his eyes snapping from Abed’s mouth to his eyes, and Abed’s brows are turned in, the way they do when Abed is worried he missed a social cue. 

“I…” Troy stares at him, unsure of what to say. Finally? Thank you? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease do it again? If Abed could hear what’s going on in his mind he would just hear static.

“Did I misread that?” Abed says, worry painting his voice like a canvas. “I thought-- I’m so sorry.” His shoulders slump and his hands fall from Troy’s chest.

“No--” 

“It’s just-- I’ve wanted to do that practically since we met but I never did because I didn’t want to ruin anything,” Abed says, his voice almost too fast for Troy to understand him, his eyes jumping away from Troy around the fort. “Because I thought you were straight, and I actually thought you were homophobic for a while because you were so cool and that’s how all the cool kids were at my high school, but I also just liked you so much I didn’t want to mess anything up, and I thought kissing you would absolutely mess things up. But I also just don’t want to lose you because you’re the best friend I’ve ever had and probably the best friend I _will_ ever have, because there’s no one else like you, and I’m just so in love with you, I--”

Abed’s voice cuts off abruptly and his eyes cut to Troy’s wider than Troy’s ever seen them, except the time a repairman fixed the clock for daylight savings, and the time Abed accidentally walked in on Annie changing. 

“What?” Troy says softly, his mouth still ajar and just beginning to spread into a smile, but Abed doesn’t notice. 

“I’m so sorry,” Abed says, exhaling the words. “I don’t want to lie. I am. But I’m just-- You’re---” He stops and gasps, his hands curling at his chest, his shoulder hunched. 

“Abed, it’s--”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Abed interrupts. 

“You’re--” 

“You’re my best friend, you understand me better than anyone else, and I don’t know--”

Troy lunges forward, his palms to Abed’s face, pressing his mouth against Abed’s, squeezing his eyes shut, and Abed lets out a small whimper. Abed responds almost immediately, his hands jumping to hold Troy’s face, pulling him in and sliding his hands around to bury his fingers in Troy’s hair. 

Troy hums, pulling away before licking his lips and leaning in again, trapping Abed’s bottom lip between his own, letting himself do all the things he’s wanted to for so long, all the things he didn’t allow himself to think about unless he was absolutely positive he was alone, just in case someone can read minds. He can feel his heart hammering his chest like it’s trying to escape, and he pulls away with a gasp, shivering at the slick sound of them separating, remembering suddenly that if he wants to keep doing this he needs oxygen.

Abed doesn’t let go of Troy’s head, running his hands over his hair until he clutches at the back of his neck, holding him close as Abed breathes heavily, his eyes shut. Troy pulls him in, brushing his thumbs across his cheeks, under his eyes, over his jaw. 

“I’m in love with you too, baby,” he breathes. 

Abed lets out a sound, a choking, whimpering “Oh,” and he pulls at Troy’s neck, crashing their mouths together, and then their lips are sliding across each other, and their hands are moving, over each other’s hair, and neck, and shoulders, and as Abed tentatively slips his tongue across Troy’s lower lip, Troy’s hands pull at him, tugging desperately at the small of his back until they’re completely pressed together.

A small part of Troy, a cynical, scared part of Troy, expects Abed to pull away, for Troy to open his eyes to see that where Abed is supposed to be is just air. He expects to wake up in the middle of a final he wasn’t prepared for.

But that doesn’t happen.

Abed’s arms slide across his shoulders, wrapping around his neck, and Troy wraps his arms around Abed’s waist, sighing as Abed tilts his head, gently, carefully biting Troy’s lip, and Troy wonders how the hell Abed got to be so good at this. How the hell Abed got to be so good at _Troy_ , because every single thing he does, every gentle bite, every subtle push of his jaw, every swipe of his tongue, is so indescribably perfect. 

_This wouldn’t happen in a movie,_ Troy thinks, because it’s going on too long, because Abed’s tongue finally pushes into his mouth and he hums in response, his fists gathering the fabric of Abed’s t-shirt, instead of grimacing and pulling away to half-heartedly mouth down his neck the way he did with every girl he ever dated, and because a boy like him would never get the one he really wants. But he doesn’t care that it’s unrealistic, cinematically speaking. And he supposes Abed doesn’t care either. 

Abed slides his hands over Troy’s neck again, up over his jaw, and brushes his thumbs over Troy’s cheekbones, and it’s soft, and warm, and so tender, that Troy is sure his legs would give out if he was standing up. They part after a while (Troy has never had a good internal clock), Abed pulls away to look at him, his eyes gleaming at him.

“This is so cool,” Abed murmurs, caressing Troy’s face, and Troy scoffs tearfully, nodding. After another soft kiss, Abed lays his head on Troy’s shoulder again, sighing, his fingers playing with the strings of his hoodie, twisting and rolling them before he stops, pressing his palm to Troy’s chest, and Troy is sure he can feel his heart. Troy closes his eyes, smiling as he runs his hands over Abed’s legs, hips, waist, to the small of his back. He’s warm, even through the t-shirt. 

“So now what?” Abed asks after a quiet minute. 

“Hm.” Troy opens his eyes blearily and nudges his cheek against the top of Abed’s head. “We can watch a movie or something if you think it would be okay.” 

“No, I mean like…” Abed lifts his head and looks at Troy again. “Like with us. Do we tell the group that we’re together?”

Troy grins, happiness overtaking him at _we’re together_ , and leans in, kissing him. 

“We can,” he says when they separate, after taking a moment to admire how wistful Abed’s expression became. “Or… Secret relationship trope?”

Abed’s face lights up, his brows raising and his eyes widening and his mouth grinning, and Troy almost giggles. 

“Oh, I would like that,” Abed says breathily, pulling Troy in from the back of his neck and kissing him again. Troy still feels like there are swarms of butterflies trying to escape him. “We can just let them figure it out,” he adds when they part and their foreheads press together.

“Mm. I mean, we probably won’t be much different than how we always are.”

“We are kissing much more, now.”

Troy lets out a giddy snicker, pressing his mouth to Abed quickly and watching as Abed leans in while Troy pulls away, his eyes locked on Troy’s mouth. 

“I’m very happy right now,” Abed says softly. 

“Me too, baby.”

Abed beams before burying his face in Troy’s neck.

\---

Troy doesn’t know how long it is before Annie pulls open the blanket and finds them there, still sitting on the floor, wrapped around each other. Abed looks up first, lifting his head off Troy’s shoulder, and Troy smiles softly before looking over Abed’s head at her. It’s brighter outside the fort, and he can’t see her face clearly because of how bright it is behind her. He thinks briefly that she looks like an angel. 

“Hey, guys,” she says softly, and Troy’s heart swells. “I’m gonna make dinner, but I could use a little help in the kitchen, if either of you…” She trails off, twisting her mouth to the side. 

“I can do the dishes,” Troy says, resting his head on Abed’s for a second before lifting it, and she nods. “Do you wanna stay in here a little longer?” he asks Abed. 

“Uh…” Abed leans back, letting his arms slide back from his neck. “I was thinking I might pray. I usually go to the mosque on Fridays but I don’t think I’m really up for going out. Is that okay?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Troy says as Annie says, “Of course, you don’t need to ask about that.”

“Okay,” he says quietly, a small smile on his face. Troy gives him a little nod with a quirk of his eyebrows. _Okay?_

Abed nods, glancing down at Troy’s lips before looking back up. Troy lets his hands slide off of Abed’s waist, letting his fingertips linger for a moment, trailing off of him, and he leans in to press a chaste kiss to his forehead (he can’t help it) before pushing himself up to stand, following Annie out of the fort. 

He turns back to pull the blankets shut, seeing Abed crawl across the floor to when his prayer rug is stored, carefully placed between the bunk bed and the wall, and when he turns back to go to the kitchen, Annie is looking at him, a small, knowing smile on her face. 

“What?” he asks, trying to act natural, like she didn’t totally see them cuddling on the floor, like she didn’t totally see Troy not wanting to let go of Abed, like she didn’t totally see Abed look directly at Troy’s mouth, like she didn’t totally see Troy kiss Abed’s forehead about as lovingly as humanly possible.

She shrugs nonchalantly, turning to the kitchen.

And he lets himself smile.


End file.
